


Authority

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Belts, M/M, Post-Movie, Punishment, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 07:57:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mallory decides to do something about Bond's attitude.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Authority

Gareth Mallory has always been a patient man. It does no good to lose one’s temper. You don't survive months of imprisonment and torture without a reserve of patience.

But there’s something about 007 that is infuriating. The man’s entire manner is infuriating. _Bond_ is infuriating.

He accepts his assignments and carries them out ably enough. Delivers his reports in a bland monotone. Drinks alone in his newly acquired flat (Mallory’s careful enough to keep an eye on him even at home, one mustn't take chances) and remains sober enough for missions. But there’s a look in Bond’s eyes when he faces Mallory that’s barely disguised. He can’t decide if it’s loathing, or disappointment, or merely anger. Possibly a combination of all three.

It’s not respect at any rate, which personally Mallory would like. He’d settle for civility, but Bond’s barely that at best.

Take now for instance. Bond’s sitting in front of his desk, drumming his fingers silently against his thigh, as he gives Mallory the report of his assignment completion in Rome. His eyes are focused somewhere over Mallory’s left shoulder. The man’s voice shows his apathy and abruptly, Mallory is tired of this behavior. Tired of Bond behaving like an adolescent. Either do the job properly or quit. He knows what the man is going through, but enough.

“Enough,” he barks the word aloud, breaking through Bond’s monotone.

For once, Bond actually takes notice. His hand stills as he stares at Mallory.

“I am tired of your disinclination to respect my authority, 007. While we all miss my predecessor,”

“Sir,” Bond’s not in the mood to hear Mallory speak about M. He's not sure he'll ever be in the mood for that.

“ _I_ am speaking, 007.”

Bond subsides, fingers twitching.

Mallory leans forward, resting his palms on his desk. “Do you want to keep your job?” His eyes bore into Bond relentlessly. This is not a time for leniency, not if he wants to get his point across.

Bond, however, assumes it’s rhetorical, so he doesn’t say anything, until it becomes apparent that Mallory is waiting for him to respond. “Yes.”

Mallory waits.

“Sir.” Bond mutters sullenly.

“Good.” Mallory straightens up. “Stand up.”

Bond stands lithely, like the graceful animal he is, supremely confident of his abilities, his ego practically emblazoned over his chest. Mallory itches to teach him a lesson, and in that instant, makes up his mind. That’s what Bond needs, so that’s what he’ll give him. Perhaps he should have done it long ago.

“Place your hands on the desk.”

Bond raises an eyebrow. “Might I ask what you have in mind, sir?” His tone is mocking.

Mallory’s voice tightens. “Bend. Over.”

There’s something in his voice that for once makes Bond obey. He bends, placing his palms flat on the desk, gazing at Mallory curiously over his shoulder.

“Eyes forward.” Mallory raps out. He undoes his belt, pulling it free. It will do well enough for he has in mind. The leather's not too thin. Just the right thickness.

Bond tenses at the sound. Mallory takes advantage of this, doubling the belt in his hand before laying a quick blow to Bond’s backside. Bond grunts, rocking forward lightly on his feet.

“Stay still.” Mallory orders.

“What’s this about, sir?”

“I didn’t give you permission to speak,” Mallory smacks him with the belt again, harder this time. “Keep your mouth shut unless you prefer to be gagged.”

Bond’s jaw tightens, but he remains silent.

“I want you on time for meetings.”

*smack*

“I want you to deliver your reports in a professional fashion.”

*smack*

Bond’s breathing faster. His palms are sweaty against the desk, but he doesn’t dare move them. There are creases in his trousers, and his back strains, holding the position.

“You will show me respect because I’m your superior. If not, I will have you tethered behind a desk for the rest of your natural life.”

*smack*

At that, Bond can’t help but look up. It’s the one thing he dreads beyond all else. It’s not death, James Bond fears, but boredom. Nothing to distract him from the tedium of the past, and the promise of a mundane future. Not to mention the everlasting guilt that hovers at the corners of his mind, threatening to consume him if he gives in for more than a moment.

Mallory surveys him and lets the belt fall again. Bond’s body jerks, but he manages to stay silent. Mallory sets his blows rhythmic and steady, until Bond drops his head between his shoulders, bracing himself against the desk, arching into the punishment, body begging for it even as his mind resists.

Mallory takes a deep breath and continues. Each blow makes Bond suck in his breath sharply, backside still curved perfectly towards Mallory’s waiting belt. Bond’s knuckles are strained upon the desk. Mallory varies the attack, striking across the back of Bond’s thighs and his lower back before returning to his arse. He thinks of how the blows will look upon Bond’s body, the flush of red spreading across white skin. He strikes faster, repetitively, until Bond lets out a strangled gasp. Mallory lets the belt fall one last time, straight across the center of his trousers and lowers the belt.

Bond hasn’t moved, and Mallory gives to the one temptation he’s allowed himself in years. His palm rests on Bond’s backside for a moment, feeling the heat radiating off the man’s body, skin begging to be soothed and caressed.

But not by him.

He moves his hand away and returns to behind his desk. For a second he gazes down at Bond’s face, taking in the man's rigid posture.

At last Bond raises his eyes to meet Mallory's. His jaw is set, neck tense, lips parted in desperation. Had she seen him like this, and been able to resist? Was that why she’d become so attached? Mallory can see how it could happen so very easily. All it would take is one step further, one step closer. One more touch and Bond would...

Well, it wouldn’t happen to him. Mallory regards Bond blankly, and slowly Bond straightens up without being told. Apart from the faint creases across the seat of his trousers, there's no evidence that anything had happened at all.

“Any questions, 007?” Mallory inquires, looping his belt back into place casually. He snaps the buckle fastened and looks up.

“No, sir.” Bond says smoothly. The heat is tempered down, the mask once more firmly in place. If Mallory regrets that at all, he doesn’t let it linger for more than an instant.

“Dismissed.” Mallory sits at his desk.

Bond nods and heads to the door. His gait is a little stiffer than usual, and Mallory fancies that at last, perhaps, he’s left an impression on James Bond.


End file.
